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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29511294">Photokeratitis</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/MS_Mayhem/pseuds/MS_Mayhem'>MS_Mayhem</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Alex Rider - Anthony Horowitz</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>AR Febuwhump (Alex Rider), Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Avalanches, Betrayal, Broken Bones, Dogs, Exposure, FebuWhump2021, Frostbite, Geographical Inaccuracies, Hospitalization, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild Gore, Mountaineering, Near Death Experiences, Pet Names, Rescue, Soup, bc im a soft bitch, bc once again im a soft bitch, snowblindness</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-20 13:28:21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,074</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29511294</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/MS_Mayhem/pseuds/MS_Mayhem</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Trapped alone on a mountain, robbed and sick, Alex had little chance of survival.</p><p>This was originally written for Febuwhump2021 Day 18: "I can't see", but also works for Day 20: Betrayal, and Day 16: Broken Bones</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Yassen Gregorovich/Alex Rider</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>57</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>AR Febuwhump 2021</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Photokeratitis</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction using character from the Alex Rider series, which belongs to Anthony Horowitz. I do not claim ownership over the characters or the world of Alex Rider.</p><p> </p><p>Also I don't know how Febuwhump works, I just saw the prompt list and decided to give it a shot</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The second Alex began the climb up the Denali, he knew agreeing to this mission had been a mistake. Sure, Alex was resilient and inventive, and was known for handling whatever the world threw at him, but there were limits to the human body.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For example, climbing a six thousand meter high mountain, with insufficient training and acclimation was at best, extremely dangerous. Sure, Alex had some experience mountaineering. He had climbed Ben Nevis with Ian when he was twelve, and Yassen had taken him up Mont Blanc for his seventeenth birthday. But the mission was rushed, a last minute assignment based on intel they had received too late. He had had only a week, until he had to summit the mountain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In a single week, Alex had to learn his cover, train to climb and go through the acclimation necessary to hike into high-altitudes. Of course, it hadn’t been enough. In the end, it was the altitude sickness that got him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The cover was Alex Randolph, a nineteen year old from Illinois, who had taken an extended gap year to climb Denali. The cover was more of an extra precaution though, it was unlikely that anybody notable would ask him why he was climbing the mountain. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The mission was to investigate a criminal group, who extorted, robbed, and sometimes killed hikers, and travelled from mountain to mountain in order not to get caught. A man named Anzor Jibuti was suspected to be their leader. All Alex had to do was take a picture linking him to the gang, and report back to MI6. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was, of course, more complicated than that. The gang would pose as a group of hikers, sometimes even befriending their victims before robbing them. They made themselves indistinguishable from the regular hikers that came up and down the mountain, and in the icy climate, complete face coverings were common. Alex would have to find the right group, and capture the picture in the perfect moment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even if he identified the gang, it would be difficult to get close enough to take the pictures, without risking being robbed or killed. At sea level, Alex could have easily taken them, even if he was grossly outnumbered, but at the high altitudes of the mountain, Alex would not stand a chance. Jibuti’s gang was completely acclimatised, not to mention that they would most likely have at least one gun between them. But Alex had to limit the items he took, having to carry all the weight himself. He only had a folding knife, and his ice axes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before Alex could find the gang, they found him. He was an obvious target: young and travelling alone. Alex had little choice but to join them. If he refused, it would arouse suspicion, and possibly blow his cover, or at least tip the gang off that something was wrong. With every day they kept climbing up, Alex grew more nervous. He would be robbed, he knew this, but the anticipation made him sick. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At least, that’s what he thought. He was nauseous and he couldn’t sleep. The tiredness and reluctance to eat could easily be explained by his lack of sleep and constant nausea -- both could be caused by extreme stress. When Alex reached the summit on his twelfth day, his head was throbbing, but he forced a smile for the camera -- held by one of the gang members he had gotten to know as Umair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alex had gotten the evidence he needed, but breaking away from the group would raise suspicion -- and Alex had seen the gun hidden by Jibuti. When they robbed him, Alex would make his escape. With every passing day, he grew more confident in his plan. He had two ice axes, and a lifetime of training on his side. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When it was finally time to be robbed, everything went wrong. He tried to fight back, but his body was weakened and he was disoriented. As he swung with an ice axe, he missed, and his arm was caught and twisted until he dropped the ice axe. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alex was held by two of the men, while a third one stripped him of his gear. His backpack was taken first, with everything in it. They took his climbing equipment, including the hip harness. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look, Alex, we are just trying to make a living, yeah?” Jibuti spoke with a heavy Eastern European accent, “We are not killers, and we’re going to let you go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alex was about to retort, when his foot was lifted up, and the crampons undone. Without the traction, it was next to impossible to get safely down the ice-covered mountain. That, of course, was the plan. He would be left to die, but not before being given a false hope of survival that an ordinary climber might have fallen for. But not Alex, he knew what was at stake.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He protested as they pulled down his hood, and unbuckled his helmet, taking his category four goggles along with it. His protest earned him a punch to the face, followed by the sickening crunch of bone as his nose was broken. He felt hot blood trickle down his face, gathering in the seam of his mouth, and dripping down his chin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re lucky, Alex. A stained suit won’t sell” Jibuti tapped the blotches of blood that had fallen into the bright yellow summit suit he was wearing. “Maybe you really do stand a chance.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alex doubted it, but did not speak again. His nose was in agony, and he could already feel his eyes swelling up from the fracture. He watched on in horror, as the thick mittens were taken, leaving him in only a pair of smart wool liner gloves that seemed flimsy against the frigid temperatures this high up the mountain. To his astonishment, they did not take his boots. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now, Alex.” Jibuti explained. “We can’t have you trailing us, now can we? We must make out getaway in peace. So, we are going to knock you out. When you wake up, you are free to go, and report us to the police. We will be long gone by then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before Alex could reply, he felt the rush of something being swung, followed by a harsh collision against the back of his head. He fell unconscious immediately, his body was held up only by the solid grip of each of his arms. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Alex next woke up, his head was throbbing. He took in his surroundings. He was in a small alcove, and his hands had been shoved into the pockets of his suit. He curled his fingers, and was glad to find that he could still feel them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alex was tempted to curl up and remain in the alcove, to die and become a marker for climbers. He wondered if his body would ever be identified. A gust of wind got trapped in the alcove, and the chill pulled Alex out of his thoughts. He at least had to </span>
  <em>
    <span>try. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Alex crawled out of the alcove, and got to his feet, leaning against the rock for support. He took in his surroundings. He was a little off the path, Alex could see where the snow was packed tight from the herd of footsteps, and all he had to do was follow the treks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>However, climbing down a mountain would require the use of his hands, and he had to take them out of his pockets. Without the mittens fitted for arctic temperatures, he was sure to get frostbite, even if he was wearing a pair of wool gloves. He would have to climb in short bursts, and take regular breaks to warm up his hands again, to decrease the chances of him losing his fingers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The process was slow, and soon Alex was faced with the next obstacle. There was a large ravine, and the only way of crossing it was a flimsy structure of ladders, that were tied together and acted as a sort of bridge over the sharp drop. Climbers would be tied down via their harnesses, to a rope that ran across the ravine for extra support. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Alex had no harness, nor anything else he could use to tether himself to the rope. He would have to crawl across the ladder without the extra security. He hopes his hands would not freeze to the metal. Worst of all, the ladders were at an angle to make up for the difference in height of the sides of the ravine, meaning he would have to cross the ladder backwards. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alex got onto his knees, and set his feet onto the first bar. The crampons would have usually acted as extra support to anchor the foot around the frozen metal bar, and without them he had to be extra careful not to slip. He tried not to look down, but there was nowhere else to look. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>On the ground of the ravine were four bodies. They were old, frozen solid in bright yellows and reds, there was little point in removing corpses from the mountain, and they were not the first corpses Alex had seen. They had not made it across the ladder. Alex hoped he would not join them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Halfway across the ladder, there was a strong gust of wind, and the ladder rattled. Alex clung on with numb fingers, and flattened himself against the ladder. It took half a minute until the ladder stopped moving in the wind, and another few seconds for Alex to get the courage to continue moving. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had to go slow, even at his snail-like pace, every movement shook the ladder, and Alex could not afford a misstep. But the longer he clung onto the metal, and had his body pressed against it, the colder he got. Finally, he reached the other side of the ravine, and took a few hasty steps back from the edge, in case he lost his balance, or in case the ice gave out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He gave himself a moment to rest, his hands tucked away and his head down with the hood drawn up, as he tried to shield himself from the wind. His hands were sore and stiff from clinging, and he moved his fingers inside the pockets, trying to regain a connection to his hands. The rush of pinpricks as feeling returned was painful, but Alex bit through the feeling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alex knew he had to keep moving, the longer he remained on the mountain, the higher the chances he would never get down at all. The next leg took him through a narrow path, with a steep cliff side to his right, and a sharp drop to his left. Alex clung to the rope running through the path with desperate hands, inching slowly along the way. He slipped once, on a patch of snow that had turned into ice, but managed to regain his footing. The mountain was not meant to be climbed without crampons. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alex took his next break once he was through the pass, leaning against a boulder. Then, he felt the air shift, before the ground beneath him rumbled. It had been only a small earthquake, but it had been powerful enough to cause an avalanche. He looked on in horror as the path he was just on was flooded with a wave of dense snow. He really did have the luck of the devil, though Alex did not feel very lucky where he was now, freezing and alone on a perilous mountain. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alex moved on, making his way down the mountain. But he had to take breaks more and more frequently. His head hurt, and he was overcome with waves of dizziness. He tried to write it off as the effects of hunger, dehydration, and overexertion, as well as after-effects of the broken nose and blow to the head. But he had a sinking feeling that there was something else affecting him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sun shifted as the day went on, and soon, it was low in the sky. It had been early morning when Alex was robbed, and he had been walking for almost a full day. Once the sun set, he would be left in the darkness. Without a torch, or any other form of light, it would be too dark to climb, and as the temperature dropped, he was sure to catch hypothermia. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alex was taking a break against a rock when there was another tremor, the earth was quaking, and before Alex could react, he could see the snow starting to slide off the mountain face above him. Alex tried to run to the side, get out of the path of the avalanche, but the huge wave was moving too fast, and soon he found himself consumed by it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alex tried desperately to stay afloat, twisting his body and back-stroking, his eyes squeezed shut and his lips pressed together. Alex could feel bits of snow falling into his suit, getting into his hood and sleeves, but he had little time to worry about that now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His shoulders were straining, and his lungs were burning -- he could barely breathe. Then, the ground below him gave away, and he fell, the snow barely cushioning him. Alex folded his hands over his face, knowing he was about to be buried alive and hoping it would create a small air bubble. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His foot collided with something hard, and Alex screamed in pain as his leg broke; his entire foot had been driven up, first crushing the bones in his ankle, then snapping his fibula in half -- the bone displaced but held in place due to his tough boots -- and lastly fracturing his tibia. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alex had tried to pull his foot up and away, but that only aggravated the bones further. He took a moment to get his bearings, breath hissing through teeth clenched in pain. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The avalanche has carried him into a crevasse, deep and narrow, meaning clawing himself to the surface of the snow would be impossible. The snow -- so tightly packed that it felt like concrete -- covered his head and shoulders as well as his raised arms, his chest, and legs were free, even if they were stuck in the crevasse. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had a small bubble of air, but it would soon be replaced with carbon dioxide with every breath he released. He had to get free. Slowly, he moved his arms from where they had still been folded around his face, wiggling against the snow, and pushing down. Slowly, it started to give, and Alex moved further out of the hardened snow inch by agonising inch. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, he had managed to slip out, and the crevasse was so tight that he would not have to worry about falling further -- unless there was another earthquake. Looking up, Alex was overcome with awe. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could see the cavity in the snow, where he was buried, and the sky was blocked out, only a bit of light shining in from his left side. That’s where Alex had to go, he knew that much.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Slowly, Alex began to move. He knew his left leg would not take much weight -- if it took any at all, and there was a long way to go until he reached the light. Then, he’d have to climb up the icy wall of the split, and climb down the rest of the mountain on a broken leg.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alex found that his best tactic was an awkward shuffle, pressing with his hands and left foot against one wall, while his back was against the other one, setting his hands further to the left side, using his right leg to kick off, as he slid along the crevasse. It was an awfully slow process, and the closer he got to the light, the darker it got. Night was settling in. By the time he could see the sky when he looked up, it was completely dark out, and Alex stared at the night sky. He did not give himself time to take in the view, he had to get out of the crevasse.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Climbing up was harder. The crevasse was angled inwards, meaning the closer to the top he got, the harder the climb would be, as he had to stretch his body more and more. The first few meters were easy enough, shuffling along with the same strategy he had used to move horizontally. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But as the gap between the two sides grew, Alex had to strain himself to get his hands to reach the wall. Eventually, he lost all contact with it, and he had to rethink his strategy. Alex knew he could not look down, he knew another fall would possibly break his leg, and he knew he would not have the energy or will-power to attempt the climb again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The walls were jagged, and if Alex was lucky, he could find good handholds. He only hoped they would take his weight. His boots were heavy, but taking them off was out of the question. Without them, Alex would lose his feet to frostbite, and for all he knew, the tight-fitting shaft was all that was holding his leg together, acting as a sort of splint. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alex set a hand on the nearest ledge, but failed to get a grip. The gloves that had previously seemed so flimsy, were now bulky. Alex would need to be able to dig his fingers in. He was hesitant to take them off, but knew it was his only chance. He would just have to put them back on when he made it to the top.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With the gloves shoved into the pockets of his summit suit, Alex began the ascend. He was careful, testing every ledge before transferring the balance of his body. The boots had stiff soles, and bulky caps, and with his injury, his legs were little help in his ascent. Alex’s arms had to do most of the work. His hands burned from the cold, as the nerves were overstimulated and frozen, and when his fingers went numb, a small part of Alex was relieved to be released from the pain. The logical part of him knew it was trouble, the numbness hinting that he might very well lose his fingers to frostbite soon.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His hands were completely torn up, fingernails ripped from their beds and the skin peeling. Alex could barely feel any of it, nor could he see the blood staining the white snow in the darkness of the night. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, he could see the top of the crevasse, and pulled himself up the last couple of meters, grasping at snow and ice, until finally, his hands were out in the open, followed by his head and torso. He shuffled on his elbows, kicking with his right leg, until it came free of the crevasse too. Alex army crawled away from the split in the mountain, and flipped over onto his back. He was exhausted and drained, and his muscles would no longer cooperate. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stared up at the sky. It was a beautiful night. The stars were bright out here, without the light pollution of the cities or small camps, and the moon was shining, bathing everything in a silver glow. Alex felt something hot run down his temples, into his ears, and it took him a second to realise that he was crying. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The tears were bittersweet and confused. He was victorious, he had survived an avalanche, and had managed to climb out of the crevasse. But on the other hand, he was broken and battered, and too tired to descend the mountain any further.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a broken, sobbing laugh, Alex resigned himself to death, and stared at the moon one last time, before closing his eyes, and falling asleep. And least she would be with him when he died, watching over his body.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was something warm and wet being pulled over his face, a probing weight at his ribs. Something sniffed at him, muzzle pressing insistently into his hood and -- was that </span>
  <em>
    <span>slobber</span>
  </em>
  <span>?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alex tried to move, but his limbs felt like lead, and he could only let out a soft groan.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a voice, urgent words spoken in Russian, with a hint of hopefulness in them. There was a bark -- powerful and deep, followed by a whine. A </span>
  <em>
    <span>dog</span>
  </em>
  <span>? What was a dog doing here?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alex tried to open his eyes, but found that it was too much effort. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could feel another presence approaching, and suddenly there were hands on him, touching his face and feeling his pulse. They were warm, and Alex smiled, content.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alex?” He recognised the voice. “Come on, little one, talk to me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yassen?” Alex mumbled, confused. What was Yassen doing here? Yassen was not supposed to be here.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. It’s me, Alex.” The voice assured him, but Alex protested.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, that’s not right. You’re supposed to be in China right now. It’s a nice dream though.” His words were slurred together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m here Alex.” Hands wrapped around his shoulders, and pulled him up so he was sitting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can you open your eyes for me, sweetheart?” The man -- it was Yassen, surely it must be -- asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Slowly, painfully, Alex peeled his eyelids open. Nothing. He tried again, but there was still only darkness. Annoyed, he brought up a shaky hand, and went to push his eyelid up, only to gasp as he felt something touch his cornea. There was a bright burning pain, and he pulled his hand away, but the darkness remained.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t see.” Alex said quietly, before repeating the statement again, with swelling panic. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t see, Yassen I can’t see!” He cried out, fumbling blindly with unsteady hands. There was something there, but his hands were too numb to make out anything specific, much less feel any texture.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s okay, it’s okay.” Yassen shushed him, and pulled him into a hug. Alex could feel the tears running down his cheeks, relieved and afraid and overwhelmed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I got you, come on, I’m taking you home.” Yassen promised, slowly standing up, and pulling Alex up with him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I broke my leg pretty bad, I can’t walk.” Alex said, panic setting in once again. Yassen was a strong man, and had carried Alex several times before, but up here in the mountains, everything was different. Still, the man scooped him up, and all Alex could do was wrap his arms around Yassen’s neck and rest his head against his shoulder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alex did not know how long they walked, all sense of time had been stripped from him, and he was still disoriented and confused. There was the sound of something metallic, the hiss of a door opening, and then he was bundled into a seat, and strapped in, a harness placed over his chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yassen said a single word in russian, a command, and Alex was briefly confused, before he heard something large jump into the space he was sitting in. Then, he heard Yassen step in, and the door closed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m gonna wrap your hands now, okay, Alex?” Yassen grabbed Alex’s wrist in slow, deliberate movements, trying not to startle the blinded boy. There was something soft placed along his fingers, and then Alex could feel the slight scatchiness of bandages. Yassen made sure the bandages weren’t wrapped too tight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alex, I think you have snow blindness. It’s temporary, like a sunburn to your eyes. I’m going to wrap your eyes to protect them from the sun, okay?” Yassen had a warm hand resting against his cheek. How was Yassen always so warm?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay.” Alex nodded softly. There was little else he could do. A thicker pad was laid over each of his eyes -- gauze, Alex noted, before the bandage was wrapped around his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a kiss pressed to his forehead, and when Yassen spoke, he sounded apologetic.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have to leave you, to fly us out of here. I’ll be just up front, and you need just call if you need anything.” Gently, Yassen pulled a headset over his ears, and carefully adjusted the mic. “Do you want Laika to keep you company?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alex was confused. The name seemed vaguely familiar, in the way that minor historical figures were.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The dog.” Yassen added.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh</span>
  </em>
  <span>, right, of course! The dog the Russians had sent into space. Why was she here though?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Isn’t Laika supposed to be in space?” Alex was confused.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She’s right here.” Yassen tried to assure him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait, the space dog is your dog? How come you never told me?” Alex sounded genuinely affronted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, my love. The space dog is still in space.” Yassen was hesitant to tell Alex the full story of Little Muttnik’s whereabouts. “I named my dog after the space dog.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh.” Alex’s blank expression turned into an amused smirk and Yassen knew what was coming.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>such </span>
  </em>
  <span>a nerd.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yassen sighed, exasperated fondness with a hint of amusement. It was a sound Alex would recognise anywhere.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can Laika keep me company?” Alex grabbed out into the air in front of him, surprised to make contact with what he presumed to be Yassen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course, my love.” Yassen was fiddling with </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Alex could hear velcro being undone, a zipper, the shuffling of a small cardboard box being unfolded, and the rattle of a blister pack. There was a metallic clang, muffled by </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was amazing, how your other senses seemed to heighten, when one was taken away. Alex had, of course, read that it was a thing, and had a hint of what it was like, created by blindfolds -- both with his explicit consent, and against his will. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you want some ibuprofen?” Yassen shuffled closer, Alex could feel the movement. Alex nodded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I will put two pills into your mouth, and then I’ll put a bottle to your lips. It’s metal, so it might be cold.” Yassen explained, and Alex could hear the two pills being popped out of the pack. The clang must have been the thermal bottle, muffled by an insulated sleeve.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yassen administered the medication carefully, and knew exactly how much water Alex needed, before he tilted the bottle away to give Alex a second, before probing him to drink some more water. Alex drained half the bottle, with Yassen pacing the water carefully.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yassen walked Alex through everything he did, explaining that he would buckle Laika in on the bench next to him, then go into the cockpit, and start up the helicopter, and keep him updated over the headset. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Laika laid down on the bench, and settled her head in his lap. Alex’s hands were wrapped up and still half numb, but he could make out the dog’s vague shape. She was </span>
  <em>
    <span>big</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Alex said as much, speaking over the microphone in his headset.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She’s an Ovcharka.” Yassen explained, his voice distorted through the headset. “A Caucasian mountain dog, they are known to kill wolves and even bears.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alex ended up sleeping through most of the flight, curled up against the wall of the helicopter, with Laika resting next to him. The flight took them down the mountain, and onto the roof of a nearby hospital. Yassen had a lot of medical knowledge, but Alex would still need a hospital. Yassen had radioed in on the way off the mountain, announcing their arrival, and giving a brief outline of Alex’s condition.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Male in his late teens. Broken leg, broken nose, most likely hypothermic and suffering from AMS, as well as photokeratitis. ETA zero-six hundred hours.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>While Yassen brought down the helicopter to land, there was already staff waiting for him. Alex was still half asleep as he was loaded onto the gurney, and wheeled inside, an oxygen mask pressed over his face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yassen followed them inside, and one of the nurses gave him a bundle of forms concerning Alex. He filled them in quickly, using the fake identity Alex had assumed for the mission. Alex was being prepared for surgery, and there was little Yassen could do now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yassen got back into the helicopter, and flew it over to a small airport, where his car was waiting for him. He unbuckled Laika, and she jumped in the back of the SUV. Once back at the hospital, Yassen got a cup of coffee, and sat down in the waiting room. Laika waited in the car, with a bowl of water, a large pillow, and an antler to chew on. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The coffee was quickly finished, it was not the type of drink you enjoyed, and Yassen settled down to mediate, sitting straight in a chair in the corner of the room. The news came hours later, the doctor -- still dressed in operating scrubs --  coming to get him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alex is out of surgery, we are just waiting for the anaesthetic to wear off.”  The doctor led him through the hospital, towards Alex’s room. “His leg is broken in five places, the bones had to be realigned; his talus was completely crushed, we were sure we’d have to amputate his foot, but luckily for him, we managed to reassemble the bone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We realigned his nose to the best of our ability, but there will be a bump that only a doctor specialising in cosmetic surgery can fix. The swelling in his eyes should go down soon, and sight should return to him. Despite the frostbite, he should be able to keep all extremities.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They stopped in front of a door, marked 103. Alex would have the room to himself, Yassen had made sure of that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can go inside now, he should wake up soon.” The doctor opened the door for him. “We’ve got him on a drip, he’s extremely dehydrated and malnourished, it might be quite shocking to see.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you Doctor.” Yassen nodded, and stepped inside.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The room was warm, the radiator turned up and the windows closed. There were machines beeping rhythmically, and the muffled whistle of an oxygen mask. The room was bright whites and pale wood, with light blue curtains, drawn tight, and a small table standing underneath the window. Along one wall was a row of closets and cupboards, and next to them the bed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alex was lying on his back, and he looked miserable. The blankets were drawn up to his chest, but his arms were exposed. They were sickly thin, with a cannula in either one of his elbows -- Alex would have preferred them in the backs of his hands, for better mobility, but his hands were wrapped up, the bandages forming thick mittens that only further highlighted the frailness of his wrists and forearms. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Underneath the thick summit suit, and the face swollen with bruising and altitude sickness, Yassen had not seen the full extent of his starvation. It sickened him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alex woke up twenty minutes later, but he was still in the post-anesthesia state where you would wake up and fall back asleep every couple of minutes, with little memory of any of it. Yassen remained by his side throughout, stroking his hair and holding his hand and assuring him he was safe, in Alex’s flashes of wakefulness. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His first extended moment of lucidity was filled with bewildered panic, followed by meek questions.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where are we?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“In a hospital in Anchorage, Alaska. South of the mountain.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How did we get here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We flew here in the helicopter. You had surgery.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did I lose my leg?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, you kept all your limbs.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I still can’t see. What if I remain blind?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You won’t, my love. Sight is expected to return to you within a couple of days, two weeks at most. You’re going to be alright, Alex.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Promise?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I promise, little one.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alex had fallen back asleep.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Alex next woke up, he was still drowsy and undersuggared from the anaesthetic, but he seemed to have finally woken up for good, and was trying -- emphasise on </span>
  <em>
    <span>trying --</span>
  </em>
  <span> to get the oxygen mask off his face. But his fingers were restricted, and bending his arms put an uncomfortable strain on his cannulas as the thin plastic tubes bent within his veins. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you want help?” Yassen answered the frustrated groan of defeat that Alex had let out, and was met with a nod of the head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yassen carefully removed the mask, making sure not to snag the elastic on anything. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t feel good, can I have some water?” Alex asked, feeling about himself to try and find where Yassen was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gently, the Russian squeezed his arm, making sure not to agitate the cannula, and stood up. “Of course, Sasha, I’ll be right back.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alex could Yassen walk -- heavy mountain boots on hospital tile, a glass sliding on wood, water being poured, a paper wrapper being torn, and then Yassen was at his side again, gently pressing a straw between his lips. Alex sucked down the water gratefully, he was thirsty.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you want some more?” Yassen took the cup away, Alex had drained it within seconds, but declined any more. Yassen left the cup on the nearby trolley, and sat back down on the chair. He put his hand back on Alex’s arm, and softly stroked the pale skin. It was a stark contrast to the sun-and-wind burn that had turned his face weathered and red. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yassen?” Alex spoke after a moment of relative silence. “How did you find me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You remember the necklace I gave you for your birthday? I may or may not have built a tracker into the clasp of it.” Yassen had stopped stroking Alex’s arm, tense as he waited for Alex to tear into him. He never did.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh.” Was all Alex said, a padded hand coming up to his neck and feeling around. The necklace wasn’t there and Alex became rigid with panic.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They took it off for surgery,” Yassen quickly soothed him, “I’ve got it right here, do you want to put it back on?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alex nodded, adding a small “Please”.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yassen pulled the necklace out. It was a gold figaro chain. The piece was simple and elegant, thinner than the oversized chains found on rappers and streetwear models, but too thick to be considered dainty. He draped it around Alex’s neck, and did up the box clasp, adjusting the chain so it lay neatly, just two inches beneath the dip at the center of his collarbones.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alex’s face broke into a soft smile, as he felt the familiar metal around his neck again. He brought up a hand to toy with the chain, even if he could not quite feel it, knowing it lay beneath his hand was enough.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re not even mad I put a tracker on you.” Yassen pulled Alex into his arms.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How can I be, when it saved my life?” Alex sighed, and tried to bury his face into Yassen’s neck, only to be met with a shock of pain as his nose was agitated.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is there a part of me that isn’t hurt?” Alex whined, turning his head sideways so he could at least rest his cheek on the man’s shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your lips seem to be fine. A little cracked from dehydration, but healthy enough.” Yassen had his face pressed close, and Alex could feel his lips moving against his temple as he spoke. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then kiss me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yassen did just that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nurses passed in and out of the room, in the afternoon, the doctor was making her rounds, and came to check up on Alex. He would sleep occasionally, and Yassen remained by his side throughout. At around five o’clock, Yassen left.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had to take Laika home, and needed to shower and change. He was still in his mountain gear, although he had stripped off his thick down pants in the car, and hung up his parka by the door of the hospital room. Alex assured him he would be fine, and would just sleep or listen to the television or something.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The drive from the hospital to Yassen’s cabin was long, and he was always cautious of traffic violations. When he came back three hours later, dressed in slacks and a turtleneck, something had changed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s me, Alex.” Yassen assured, stepping inside the room to take his seat next to the bed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yassen, Yassen.” Alex sounded panicked. “You have to get me out of here, please!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, hey,” He tried to soothe, stroking Alex’s hair, “What’s wrong?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t go back.” Alex’s voice rose “I can’t go back, please! Please, Blunt </span>
  <em>
    <span>can’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>find me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alex, what happened?” Yassen asked, though he was already working on a plan to sneak him out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was a trap.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A disguise, a distraction, and a stolen wheelchair later, they were both in his car, and Yassen was pulling out of the hospital parking lot. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a while before Alex started talking, buckled into the front seat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was listening to the news. They managed to arrest Jibuti and his gang. I was wondering how they found them, and then I remembered the necklace. They must have planted a tracker in my gear. I was bait. They </span>
  <em>
    <span>wanted </span>
  </em>
  <span>me to get robbed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alex’s breath hitched, and when he spoke again, his voice was cracked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They must have known that it was a death sentence. They knew and they did it anyway. They left me to </span>
  <em>
    <span>die.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Alex laughed bitterly, it was an awful sound.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m getting too old for them. Too scarred. Too </span>
  <em>
    <span>broken</span>
  </em>
  <span>. They made me this way, used me, and now then they disposed of me, like a broken toy. Is that all I am, Yassen?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yassen stopped the car, taken aback. He turned towards Alex, even though the boy could not see him. Gently, he took Alex’s hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, Alex. What they did was </span>
  <em>
    <span>wrong, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>so </span>
  </em>
  <span>sorry I never tried harder to get you out when you were just starting. But, you are not a tool. You’re not a weapon.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then why do I feel so </span>
  <em>
    <span>useless</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” Alex sobbed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alex, listen to me.” Yassen tightened his grip, his voice commanding, his words precise. “You’re worth more than what you can give to other people.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Promise?” Alex sounded so unsure of himself. It broke Yassen’s heart.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I promise.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alex was quiet the rest of the drive, curled up against the window. When his hand was free, Yassen would rest his hand on Alex’s thigh, softly stroking his thumb back and forth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yassen was not an emotional man, but right now, he was overcome with feelings. He was furious at the MI6, at Blunt and Ian Rider, and he was furious at himself for not saving Alex. He felt grief-stricken and guilty. </span>
  <em>
    <span>How could he not have known? How could he not have realised how Alex felt about himself?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The cabin was small and made of wood, with a corrugated metal roof, and a small porch out front, facing a small river. It consisted of a single living space, and a small bathroom through a door at the back of the house. The kitchen divided the front of the house from the back, with counters placed along a half-wall. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a queen sized bed, with soft flannel sheets and a fur blanket. The bed was wedged in a corner, along one of the walls was a fireplace near the foot of the bed. On the other side of the fireplace, opposite the bed, stood a couch, plush and overloaded with blankets and furs. Next to the bed was a side-table, and a chair with a sheepskin draped over the seat and back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yassen carried Alex through the front door, and the two were greeted by Laika, who was ecstatic to see her dad again. She was, of course, trained not to jump up at people.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alex was deposited on the bed, and Yassen changed him out of the hospital pyjamas into a pair of fleece-lined sweatpants, a t-shirt, and a sweater. The clothing hung off of Alex.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m gonna cook dinner, if you need anything, just call.” Yassen pressed a kiss to Alex’s forehead, and went to prepare the food.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The bed was positioned in an alcove, so that the head of the bed was not visible from the front of the house, Yassen liked it that way. He hummed softly as he cooked, peeling potatoes and chopping up celery.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thirty minutes later, Yassen returned with two bowls of soup, only to stop at the foot of the bed, staring.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alex was curled up on his side, asleep, and Laika was lying on the bed with him. Which was odd, because she was well-trained and Yassen never allowed her on the bed. She was curled around Alex’s head, with her head resting on his shoulder, eyes watchfully set on the door. Alex had his face buried in the soft fur on her stomach, not unlike how young pups lay when nursing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe there could be an exception to the no dogs on the bed rule after all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dinner was a thick potato soup, with chunks of celery, potato, and carrot, and sliced bockwurst. Yassen had made tea, with slightly too much sugar for Alex -- just the way he liked it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yassen was careful with waking Alex up, and Laika stood up and walked further down the bed, the mattress dipping under her weight. Yassen helped Alex sit up, building up pillows for him to rest against, and spoon fed him the soup, while Laika rested her head in his lap, and Alex petted underneath her ears.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Three days later, Alex regained his sight, and gasped as he saw Laika for the first time. Her coat was a dark brown, with bits of black and fawn. She was massive, and with her dark face and eyes, she looked more like a bear than a dog. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The thick mittens were replaced with smaller bandages over the tips of his fingers, they had been ripped up pretty badly by his climb, and he was ecstatic to be able to feel things with his hands again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m thinking about retiring.” Yassen spoke, his arms wrapped around Alex.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You are?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. Where would you wanna live?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Somewhere warm. With a beach.” Alex decided, playing with Laika’s ears. The fur on them was fine and soft like silk. “And no bad memories.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Europe or abroad?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t mind either way.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How about the Costa del Sol?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That sounds wonderful. Can we take Laika?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course, my love. I wouldn’t dream of leaving her behind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you, for saving me.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>“You’re worth more than what you can give to other people.” Quote from She-Ra (2019)</p><p>I know the plot doesn’t make sense, but I’m filling up the plot holes with angst, pain, and soup</p><p>Hope you enjoyed this!</p><p>Edit: I did a small sketch of Alex (now recovered) and Laika, check it out here: https://ms-mayhem.tumblr.com/post/646538504371929088/me-terrible-at-drawing-animals-also-me-heehee</p></blockquote></div></div>
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